


Just Kidnap An Axe

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [8]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Gen, Lucys perspective so nothing may ever get explained, Some gore mention, Vague storyline, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Lucy is stolen by a mad man.(...Maybe...)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually really fun to write.

Night fell, the open meadow slowly becoming alive with the flight of firefly clouds, the sounds of the dark clear and calm. The half moon above shone bright, the unnatural thick of the night surrounding their camp and the little flickering fire with a blanketed ease, and everything was right with the world.

Lucy dozed. Of course, she could not actually do such a thing, or sleep for that matter, but her mind ambled and softened in the quiet night. Her partner slept, barrel chest rising and falling under his grass made mats, and she was leaning on one the tree trunks they’ve chopped today, a healthy birch in its prime, blade reflecting the firelight as the flames cracked and popped on the fresh wood. The lumber pile set off to the side was piled high, clean wood that would be transported on the morrow back to their permanent base. This amount should last them awhile, maybe even through all of winter, and Lucy felt pride whenever she thought about it.

Today had been a very good day.

As she waited patiently for the moon to set and the sun to rise, content and fuzzy with the days work and with how pleased she was being here, with Woodie, her dear friend, Lucy slowly realized that something was a little off. The night sounds had quieted.

The dawning realization was slow, the sudden lost sound of the bugs and distant toads, the other shiftings of the smaller woodland animals disappearing; she didn't realize something was truly wrong until the fireflies twinkling, dancing lights suddenly died out. The meadow was dark, silent, and though she did not have the abilities to feel so, Lucy was nervous. The night felt more threatening, more intimidating, and it only took another few moments of unease before she called out to her partner.

(Woodie? Woodie dear, something is wrong. I think you should wake up.)

Her voice betrayed her anxiety, a quiet hoarse whisper, and the dark silence felt even heavier, barring down on the camp after her voice faded. She felt afraid now, something wrong, and it felt like something bad was just about to happen. This was never a good feeling and usually it ended badly for the both of them, so Lucy gathered her voice and spoke louder, feeling her courage waver in nervousness.

(Please Woodie, something is wrong. You need to wake up.)

Louder this time, but her voice just wasn’t enough to rouse him. All that work had tired Woodie out, she knew that, but she really needed him to wake up now. If only she could get up and shake him awake! Alas, an ax can do no such thing and all she could do is try to wake him with her voice.

Before she could try again, speak louder perhaps, the sounds of approach stopped her. The firelight was low now, the darkness creeping in, now giving her the opposite feelings of calm and quiet, and it shed no light on who was coming closer and closer to their little camp. She wavered, felt the stutter in her voice, the slow fear because whoever it was, they were not using any light to walk by, were in total darkness, and their steps were light against the grass, everything else deathly silent.

They neared the fires small circle of light, stepped into the outskirts, and still she could not see whoever it was, their figure a dark silhouette in the flickering flame. After a moment of tense silence, Lucy got the courage to confront them.

(W-who are you? What do you want?)

She couldn't get over the thought they'd been traveling in complete darkness, been unharmed in its embrace by the night monster that lurked hidden away, and the fear of the unknown, of what new monster this was or what it could do to her or Woodie, made her feel a sudden surge of protectiveness. 

(Whoever you are, stay away! Don't come near us! If you don’t listen we'll-)

It only took a few long strides and suddenly the intruder had a hand on her handle, lifted her up and stared down at her red blade. The shadows of the flickering fire made the man more terrifying, more monstrous, and Lucy knew who it was and was instantly calling out, voice much louder and sharper than ever as she tried to warn Woodie.

Thankfully this time he heard and Lucy saw her partner sit up, blink blurry eyes at the intruder before his face morphed into rage at seeing her in the mans grip, and then Lucy let out a shrill scream as she was yanked away, into the darkness as the stranger bolted without a single thought.

Woodie yelled out, almost dived in after them before he seemed to remember the danger of the dark and Lucy felt immense relief as she was suddenly swung back around, able to see the light of the dying fire, able to see Woodie go back and pull out a torch from his backpack, able to see him stomp out towards her, lit light raised high.

There was a slow build up around her, soft hissing and crawling noises and she was carried along in the dark, the grip on her handle tight and horrible, and Lucy started to call out to Woodie, try to warn him, tell him the man was circling him, was going up behind him even as the growling noises of the monstrous dark increased, but then there was a hand on her blade and-

And her voice stuttered, was silenced because there was blood, lots of blood dragged down her silver, the feeling of bones and tendons and cut skin, and it halted her voice in her nonexistent throat. There was something else, not just blood, not just flesh and it burned, somehow it burned her, something dark and slick and oily, and Lucy could only watch as the man circled behind Woodie, was just behind him and out of the torches short light, the clogging in her silent and chill because she could not speak, could not do it at all.

And she could not call out, could do nothing but watch and be swung in an arc and it hit her full force just as Woodie was hit and the sudden tumble down and flicker of flame and scramble for the torch was enough to break through that awful silence in her head and she screamed.

It was too late and now she was here, handle still raised, stuck and bloody and Lucy sobbed, her voice a wavering thin sound that echoed in the dark meadow. She did not pay attention to the man who had stolen her, had used her, had made her do…do this terrible, terrible deed, and her cries only rose as the now murderer-

(Murderer murderer murderer you had used me to – to-)

Walked around, away from her and the – the corpse of her friend, her partner, and still nothing changed and she was stuck and she was still covered in blood and that terrible blackened stuff and-

“Do you ever shut up Lucy?”

Her own voice hiccuped, suddenly interrupted as her handle was grasped and there was one, two, three tugs and she pulled away, blood and matter flung with her arc back and if she had a body she'd be gasping, sobbing out at the sight before her, of Woodie, poor dear Woodie-

“Stop crying. He'll be back tomorrow morning on that touchstone you both found earlier. Probably with a raging headache, but nothing bad enough to justify your sniveling.”

His voice yanked her away from her grief as he slowly made his way to their camp, the low fire light guttering but still hanging on, the torch in his hand added to its flame and brightening it up again. His blunt mention of the touchstone, of the apathetic tone on what had just happened, enraged her and Lucy would have traded anything to have a body, to be able to attack this man, rip him apart for what he did. Her voice rose, only slightly weakened by the traumatic experience, and he turned her blade towards him as she hissed.

(You – you horrible man, you terrible man, no, monster! That's what you are, a terrible monster, and I swear I'll kill you for what you did to Woodie, I'll kill you!)

And the look he was giving her made her more angry, if she could she'd be trembling with the emotion, more than ready to destroy him, and the bemused expression on his face looked down upon her before his grip on her handle shifted, moved her up and close.

“Well then, here's your opportunity Lucy.”

Lucy stuttered, felt the pressure on her blade, the neck pressed against her exposed and thin and weak and trembling ever so slightly. The man swallowed thickly, the hands on her handle and back of her blade pushing suddenly before they relaxed and he pulled her away, looked down on her red blade with that same strained expression.

“I guess not then?”

And then his expression twisted, more of a smirk and harder expression sliding into place, pitch black eyes glinting at her in the fire light and again it was something terrible before her, a terrible monster in the flickering shadows.

“I would have never guessed you'd spare my life when you didn't spare his.”

It took her a moment to process what he just said and then she was bristling in anger, the spears of grief and horror making her voice shake, making her barely even notice him set her down on the tree trunk and turn away from her.

(You did that, not me! You killed Woodie, you horrible monster, you made me do it! You murderer, you horrible murderer, you-)

“Shut up Lucy. You repeating the same words at me over and over doesn't change anything.”

Lucy fumed, ready to spit words at him again, because this man was a murderer, a killer, a monster, but he ignored her, started rummaging around in the backpack next to the wood pile. Woodies backpack, to be precise, and that enraged her even more.

(A thief, you're a thief as well! That is not yours, none of that is yours, don't you dare take anything-)

“I would not call it thievery if the man who is being robbed is thoroughly dead and has no need for such things.”

The man didn't even look at her, instead seemed to be pulling everything out if the grass sack and inspecting the bag itself, hefting it in one hand before stuffing Woodies possessions back inside of it. Lucy growled, watched as he left out most of the twigs and dumped the rocks away, focusing on putting ready made torches and that odd box they had found earlier today inside the bag before swinging it over his shoulders, leaving one torch out in the grass.

(Woodie will be back, the touchstone will bring him back, you said so yourself, and when he finds you you'll be begging for mercy, I swear it, we'll make you pay for what you did-)

“How oddly romantic. Never thought you were the aggressive type Lucy.”

The man made his way back to her, scooped her up and twirled her dizzyingly for a moment, made her rant cut off as a nauseous feeling rose in her nonexistent gut. After a moment, letting her hang in his grasp with an odd look on his face, Maxwell swung her up and around his back, to settle in Woodies backpack. Her blade hung out but she stayed put, no matter how much she wished herself to swing out and cut the former King into little pieces, and he picked up the left over torch and patiently lit it in the slowly fading campfire before he made his way out into the darkness, opposite of Woodies corpse.

Lucy regained her voice once more, that sick feeling still in her somehow from that trick, but the wheezing hiss out in the darkness stopped her from speaking. The sounds of it, crawling about in the grass, dragging itself behind and all around them in the darkness, would have made her shiver if she could have. That thing has taken Woodie numerous times, always kept her in the dark and under its heavy breath until morning, when he'd come jogging back with apologies and sorries under his breath, hold her tightly with worry in his voice and relief when she responded, and then they'd go out and spend the day with each other and the trees, planting and examining the little growing saplings and just enjoying each others company.

(Woodie…)

She felt Maxwell shift, the torch raised a little higher as he navigated around a bundle of berry bushes, jostling her and the pack.

“…Don't worry. You'll see him again.”

(When? And how, if you are taking me?)

Maxwell didn’t respond to her this time, instead pushing past a rather large thicket of berry bushes and stumbling out into the small birchnut forest, keeping the torch up to shed light over the grassy rolls and tree roots. Lucy almost said something more, wanted to push because she didn't understand why this had happened, why a man such as Maxwell would first kill Woodie and then kidnap her, but that hissing crawl out in the dark stopped her with an especially loud sound, a deep thrum of a screech, the sounds of it pounding behind them and around and then away.

Maxwell seemed to be unfazed, hadn't even reacted at all, but Lucy noted that he hesitated for a moment before turning and following in the direction of where it had gone, slow careful steps in their little circle of warm torch light.

Lucy quieted, unsettled and confused, but still aching. There still was blood on her blade, still was black ichor on her, still was…was Woodie, on her. The thick coagulated feeling was terrible, numbing and icy, and Maxwell continued on the shadow trail, the ax in his pack silent.


End file.
